


Hands in My Hair

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, First Meeting, bughead - Freeform, mechanic betty, meet cute, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Jughead's bike breaks down, but luckily there's a pretty, blonde mechanic nearby to fix it.





	Hands in My Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> Prompted by: JoleneTheMoon so I hope you enjoy!

There'd been a strange ticking sound coming from his motorbike on the way to visit Jellybean and his mom, so he's not that surprised that on his way back, that the thing gives out completely. He manages to pull on the breaks, and veer off to the side of the dirt road, and he takes out his phone to get a gist of what's nearby. His phone was cool when he pulled it out of his pocket, but the black screen is quickly heating up; it almost hurts the pads of his fingers. 

He's fairly close to Riverdale, according to the screen, which he has to squint to read against the blaring sunlight, maybe an hour's walk, but the best thing is, is that there's a mechanics on the way. 

It's a hot day, the sun's in the sky, and it's late afternoon now. There's no breeze, nor is there a cloud in the sky. Just endless blue. It had been nice when he was over at SeaSide Park with his sister, and he'd thrown her into the ocean and she'd screamed with laughter. But now? Now it's a hindrance. Jughead pushes his bike along, attempting to distract his mind from the weight of it. He's never been the strongest guy in the world, words are really more his forte, and so he weaves some poetry in his head as he goes along. It gets hotter as he walks, so he strips out of his jacket and shirt, draping them over his bike seat, pushing along in his white vest, sweat trickling down the straining muscles in his arms and legs. His hat has long since been stored under the seat, and though his dad would kill him, his helmet's back at home.

He can hear his foot steps, digging into the gravel with each step. The handles of the bike are getting hot now, and he can smell heated leather from his jacket. It doesn't smell good. It smells like getting into a car that's been sitting in the sun all day. It makes him feel stifled.

After walking for a while, he spots it in the distance. The mechanics is open according to the webpage, but looks fairly empty when Jughead sees it a little way off. No matter, just the sight of it gives him the energy to keep pushing forward, ploughing along, and when he gets there, he kicks the bike into standing, and squeezes the muscles in the back of his neck. 

"Hello?" He calls into the empty garage, stepping under the shelter, at least the coolness of the shade is good for him. He arches into it, sighing in relief. There are lots of huge machines that he couldn't even begin to name. After a moment of no response, he fetches his bike, wheeling it into the shade too. The metal seems to groan in appreciation. He pats its handles affectionately. "You'll get fixed up soon," he murmurs to it, before strolling further into the shop. 

Still no one. He is on an empty patch of road, but he figures they wouldn't leave all this machinery out here to be stolen without someone about. 

He's about to call again, when he hears a clang, what sounds like metal hitting metal. He follows it, wiping his clammy fingers through his sweat slicked hair, and the clanging becomes a bit louder, irrhytmical, like someone's doing something with a spanner.

He pauses when he finally gets to the source of the noise.

For all his ideas on equality, he hadn't apparently tossed the preconception that the mechanic would be a burly, middle aged man, with a balding head and a red face. Because he's surprised completely by the slim, fair young woman leaning under the hood of a car. She's wearing denim overalls and her hair's pulled back in a ponytail, brilliantly blonde. Her arms have grease stains on them, smeared black with oil here and there, and Jughead can't see her face, but he can guess she'll be all sorts of beautiful. That's endearing, a beautiful woman working as a mechanic. Definitely worth writing about.

"Excuse me?" He calls, clearing his throat, and she glances over her shoulder, eyes widening when she sees him. She steps back and straightens, mindful of the hood, and she's wearing large, thick gloves, one hand still holding a gleaming silver spanner. Jughead was right, she is beautiful. More beautiful than he'd thought. With huge blue eyes and pink lips, maybe a sort of innocent-vibe going on, but she looks far too clever to be anything close to naive.

"Hey, sorry," she smiles "didn't hear you,"

"It's alright," he smiles, squeezing his arms self-consciously, aware of the mess he must look. "I was trying to get back to Riverdale, my bikes making these weird noises..." he tips his head in the direction he parked his bike, and she nods surely.

"Of course, yeah, I'll take a look for you. You're not too far out from Riverdale, actually,"

"I know," he says, going for friendly, as he follows her back to his bike. "I live there, I was just visiting some family." She nods, making a small  _hmm_ sound, and they reach his bike. She immediately crouches beside it, but can't detect any outward signs of problem. She glances up at him, eyebrow cocked, and Jughead has to really try not to think about the fact that she's pretty much hip level right now- so he goes to shuffling his things off the seat, and setting them over a wooden chair that's propped against the wall. "It was making a weird ticking noise a few days ago, and then really revved up today, and then just spluttered out and died. Somewhere from the..." he gestures vaguely to the front part of the bike "front area?"

The girl looks up at him, clearly amused. "'front area'?" She quotes, and he flusters

"Hey! I'm not the mechanic here, Miss..."

"Betty Cooper," she stands up, offering her gloved hand, but he takes it anyway. "And you are?"

"Jughead Jones," he smiles, shaking her hand. It's coarse and oily, but his own hands are soaked in sweat, so it's probably for the best.

She smiles, and goes back to the bike. "Well Jughead, I think it's probably something to do with the air filter from what you've said, I'll take a look. It should be easy enough to fix. Probably won't take too long either, I have all the parts here. Probably about twenty minutes, if you just wanted to hang about?" She sets about shuffling around for a screwdriver, and starts fiddling with bolts near the front of the bike. "I've been here by myself all day,"

The dark haired boy nods eagerly, leaning against the wall and watching her work. He'd offer his help, but he wouldn't know where to begin in knowing what tools to pass her. Besides, she looks pretty able like this, pretty fucking able. "That's fantastic, thanks." He murmurs, relishing the coolness. He can feel the sweat prickling against his skin and starting to stick to him. He flexes his dry fingers. "What's the damage, do you think?"

She pulls away the front compartment, and makes a few investigating sounds, before nodding decisively. "I was right, it is the air filter. Won't be too expensive, I can do it for around $40?" 

Jughead feels his chest heave in relief. "I've got that much," he nods, shooting her a half smile "like fate huh, Cooper?" 

She rewards him with another laugh, currently lying on her back, her head beside the front wheel of the bike, and her golden hair splaying out under her head onto the cement. "Probably," she agrees with a beam, removing what Jughead assumes is the air filter and tightening up some other things. He watches her do it for a long moment, arms crossed and scratching his elbow. He's not sure what to say. It's been a long time since he's been attracted to a girl, since he's even looked at someone that way, and he knows its just appearance based attraction, but he's intrigued. 

"D'you live in Riverdale?" He asks, looking for something to say.

"Yeah, by the outskirts," she answers, voice muffled slightly by her own arm, as she has her hands above her head, doing something with a focused expression on her face. Jughead thinks its kinda cute. "I go to Riverdale High, you at Southside?" 

"Yeah," he grimaces "we have outstanding facilities like a waterless swimming pool and a metal detector for the many, many knives." He sighs audibly, closing his eyes and rubbing his face. "It'll all be over soon though, after graduation. Then I'll be free to wander like the lost soul I am," 

Betty's laughter surprises him, because she's now standing up, tugging one of her gloves off. "Are you always so dramatic?" She teases, and he gives her a fake glare. She seems to take him in then, and frowns a little. "I have to go and get the air filter, it's just round back, do you want to- I mean, there's a hose, just over there," she points to over his shoulder, and he follows her direction to see a green and yellow hose coiled in the corner. "If you wanted to wash off a little, I know it's hot out there and-"

"And I look like I might pass out at any second?" He grins knowingly, and she shrugs sweetly. "Thanks, I will, if that's alright." 

"Cool," She nods, and her cheeks flush a little. He's finding her more and more endearing.

"Cool." He echoes back, ducking his head, and she laughs quietly. 

"Okay, I'll go get the part," and she's turning and walking away. Jughead admires her for a moment more, she's slim, but she's strong, that much is clear. Her arms are gently leaned muscle and her fingers clearly know what they're doing. How her hair manages to stay so perfect even whilst doing all this work, he doesn't know, he thinks maybe she could give Cheryl Blossom a ride for the money. 

He goes over to the hose, and fiddles with it, before lustrous cold water is steaming from its nozzle. He nearly groans at the feeling over his fingers, realising just how hot he was. He pulls it over to the drainage grid, and strips off his shirt with one hand, throwing it on the wooden chair with his jacket and shirt, and then he bends over, letting the water soak his head. It feels amazing, its ticklish and cooling and so achingly refreshing it almost hurts. He scrubs a hand through his hair, washing out the sweat and the day's grime, till he's left with clean, untangled locks. Then he sprays the water at his face, rubbing at his cheeks until he can smell his own skin again. The droplets give some moisture to his lips again, and he splashes the hose at his chest and torso, over his arms, letting the water's cool arm soothe him. 

By the time he shuts the hose off, he's half soaked, but he feels incredible. Cold water droplets are sliding down the muscles on his back and into his jeans, and his hair is dripping down onto his shoulders, and a few strands stick wetly to his forehead, but he feels like he could finally relax.

And then he sees Betty, standing by the bike, holding an air filter and two bottles of water.

Her eyes are fixed on his stomach, watching the water slide down under his belt. He wonders what sort of image he makes, standing there, dripping wet. Though he's never considered himself the most attractive, he's not too hard on the eyes. Maybe he'll never be whats conventionally attractive, but who likes convention, anyway? Betty apparently doesn't, if her flushed cheeks are anything to by. He can feel his own cheeks begin to flare up, but the water keeps them cool. 

"Hey," he manages, voice gruff, and her eyes snap up to meet his guiltily. 

"Hey," she nods, "I got uh...I got us some water," She tosses him a bottle, as if she doesn't trust herself to be close to him. He thanks her with a two fingered salute, and unscrews the cap, gulping greedily. She takes her own small sip, before getting back to work. 

He steps closer, droplets splatting around him here and there. "I didn't even know I wanted water till I drank some," he grins "do you have some sort of magical power?" 

She relaxes a little, laughing, as she fits in the new air filter with deft hands. "You don't have to be a mindreader to stay hydrated." 

"Something tells me you are anyway," he chimes back. He wonders what she'd look like, drenched with water. He imagines the image would take his breath away. 

It only takes a moment, before the part's clicked into place, and the hard front is screwed back on. He pushes himself off from the wall he was leaning against, and watches her stand and test the fitting. She nods, tugging off her gloves and seemingly mightily pleased. "This should work," she grins, and he hops on the bike, revving up the engine, to hear only the smooth sound of a bike ready to go. He powers it down, beaming at her. 

"You did that in way under twenty minutes. You're some kind of whiz kid, huh?" He guesses, picking up his jacket from the chair and digging around for his wallet. She rolls her eyes, but he snorts. "You can't hide it from me. You got talent there, Cooper. Bet you could do this kind of thing in your sleep, am I right?" He hands her the money, and she gives him the same salute he gave her back with it, before sliding it into the pocket of her overalls. He raises his eyebrows; impressed, and she shrugs her shoulders in a faux-modest kind of way. That makes him tip his head back and laugh out loud. "You are gonna ruin me, Betty Cooper," he decides, unsure whether he should pick up all his stuff. If he does, isn't that admitting that he's going to be leaving now? And does he really want to be doing that? 

She doesn't look like she wants him to go either, if he can even vaguely read the opposite sex. She's still standing before him, watching him. 

So he sets his stuff back down and gestures to the bike. "Have you ever ridden one of these before?" He asks, strolling over to it. She follows him, eagerly. 

"No, my dad thinks they're too dangerous," she rolls her eyes, and he grins. 

"I get that. You should take a seat though, it's super comfortable," 

She arches an eyebrow, like she's not sure what he's up to, but she straddles it gracefully. She has perfect form on it, and Jughead's not surprised, as he stands behind her, and watches the perfect arch of her back. "This is super nice, actually," she states, pleased. Jughead smiles, before he places his hands on her shoulders, slowly; she stiffens in surprise, but doesn't push him away, and he bends his head to kiss her cheek. He can hear her breath hitch. 

"I haven't read this completely wrong, have I?" He murmurs into her ear, and she shudders in his arms. 

"No," she whispers, and he smiles into her shoulder.

"Then turn around."

She's confused at first, but she turns around on the seat, so she's facing away from the handle bars, and Jughead is in front of her, leaning over the back wheel of the bike, and kissing her. His lips are soft, and cold from the water of the house, but she doesn't care, her fingers twining their way into his dark hair, which is also dripping wet. It makes her smile against his lips, and his hands are at the top of her overalls, unhooking them, but leaving the white top beneath. 

"Trust me," he whispers, tugging down her overalls, and she nods breathlessly, watching him with large, blue eyes. "Lean back,"

She does lean back, and the handlebars are surprisingly comfortable under her shoulders, as she looks down with lidded eyes as Jughead lifts her legs to peel off her overalls, before letting her legs fall onto either side of the seat. His cold hands are now on the inside of each thigh, and his mouth is...

 _Oh._ She gasps, head falling backward and weight giving way. Her ponytail swings down over the front of the bike, as she closes her eyes, arching her back and gasping in pleasure. He's lavishing her with his tongue, over her underwear, and she can feel her hips bucking up in gratification. She feels like she's burning up, but everything about him is so cold, so crisp, even his tongue from the water she's given him. The touch is so unexpected, so welcome, that she spreads her legs wider, but he maintains control with his hands keeping firm grip of her thighs.

She can feel herself shaking under his attentions, feel herself nearing, and she reaches down a hand to fist into his hair as she moans loudly arriving in a cresting wave of sensation. 

By the time she can open her eyes, he's hovering above her, and kissing her lips gently. 

He looks down at her, and he thinks she's the most stunning thing he's ever seen. 

She looks completely sated, and reaches a hand towards his jeans but he pulls away, caressing her face instead, even though he's aching in his pants. Making her happy is more than enough for him at the moment. 

After she's redressed, and he's straddling his bike, out on the main road again, shirt back on, he grins at her. He's still hard, especially now that he's sitting right where she was, and he won't be able to get on this bike again without thinking about her. She offers him a wave, smiling, and he revs up his bike. "Maybe I'll see you around?" He calls, over the roar of the engine.

Betty nods, shyly "I'd like that." 

She watches until he's a speck in the distance, and then with a sigh returns into the shop. 

She sees his jacket, still draped over a chair by the hose and smiles. 

Well, she'll  _have_ to see him again now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment/prompt on your way out beautiful people!   
> x


End file.
